


the sun in its forest

by laratoncita



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Coming Out, Established Relationship, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Reverse Chronology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:17:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6013717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laratoncita/pseuds/laratoncita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One time Derek says, "I love you," and five times he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. march 26

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing! In honor of Valentine's Day/Derek Nurse's birthday, aka I have been thinking about writing this for weeks but needed a kick in the pants to do so. Title based off Octavio Paz's "Counterparts." I'll edit this later.

> _in you the wars and the flights accumulated._  
>  _from you the wings of the song birds rose._  
>  the song of despair, pablo neruda

A week without Will is not, actually, as much as a hardship as Derek had claimed it would be, back when he was clinging to Will's back in an effort to convince him to give him "five more minutes, please?" of what he is not ashamed to call cuddling. It was the Friday before spring break, and even though Derek had Fridays off for the semester he had postponed driving home until that afternoon under the guise of not wanting to drive home after a six o'clock class. In reality he was trying to crawl into bed with Will again, which was an act he was rather successful with, in all honestly.

Will, that fateful morning, had given him his most unimpressed look, the one that Derek was on the receiving end of so often that it didn't even faze him anymore. Much. It was half-past eight, and they'd had a rather busy night.

"Some of us have class," Will said, and Derek groaned, dramatically enough to earn a grin from the other. Will said, "Come on, we didn't go to sleep that late. Aren't you always going on about how it's 'quality, not quantity that matters'?"

"Poindexter," Derek said, seriously, "quoting me about essay length does not translate well to our sex life." He beamed at Will's flush, twisting further in the sheets so that it would be practically impossible to be thrown out of bed, like he'd been the week before when they were running _really_ late for practice. They'd woken up a bit too frisky, he could admit that.

"I have to go to class," Will reminded him, pointedly ignoring the way Derek pouted at him.

"You have an hour," he said, "and it's like, a ten minute walk, tops. Come back to bed."

"Breakfast," Will said, pulling his jeans up and digging through one of Derek's drawers to borrow a shirt. Actually, it was also possible that it was his shirt, and that Derek had stolen it first. He wasn't quite sure he owned a button-up in that color.

"That'll take fifteen minutes?" Derek tried, and glanced at the clock. He'd been awake all of six.

"Okay," Will said, obviously ignoring everything about Derek (he would normally say, "Like always," but Derek is a romantic in every sense of the word and very enamored of the redhead, so), and then, "be right back," and ducking out of the room to presumably brush his teeth and get presentable for his last two classes of the week. Derek slumped in bed for approximately thirty seconds before deciding that convincing Will to lie down again was a lost cause, and that he could use them going to breakfast as an excuse to engage in PDA. Sometimes his ideas were great.

It was a quarter 'til by the time the two of them were presentable (not that, like, Derek managed to get an eager Will up against a wall or anything), and on their way to the dining halls. Derek was almost tempted to just go to class with Will, but he a) had no interest in stats and b) actually needed to pack, so he disappeared back to his dorm to do some last-minute cleaning before taking off. Will was done with class around noon, and Derek was on the road by one.

Break felt too short, if he were being honest. Mom and Mamá had asked him if he wanted to do Florida, so they spent a few days in Orlando before he drove back to school the Friday before classes. This time, he does drive at night, which earns him Mom's stink eye (which he is definitely _not_ used to) and Mamá saying, "Introduce him to us sometime, yeah?"

In all honestly, (or, as Shitty would text, _TBHHHH_ ) Derek did not realize how much he missed Will until he got the text message "back at my place" that Saturday morning. It's not like they haven't been texting all week, and they've even got the floating pink hearts on Snapchat (Chowder finds it all very endearing, though Derek's lying if he says he doesn't, too). He's thrown off by the sudden uptick his heart goes through, flushing a little for no particular reason.

"You okay?" Bitty says, noticing his sudden discomfort, and Derek plays it off quickly, grins.

"Yeah," he says, "Dex just got in though, so," and begins to inch out of the kitchen.

"Of course!" Bitty says, and Derek almost misses the sly grin on his face, "Don't forget to come by later, I've gotta Anadama recipe y'all'll love."

"You mean Dex will love," Derek says, already halfway out of the hallway, and nearly misses Bitty shouting, "Exactly," after him as he rushes out of the Haus.

One of Will's roommates is there when Derek arrives, and lets him in with a nod towards Will's room in the back. Will hadn't been entirely sure how chill they'd be with Derek around, and in truth Derek had been a little nervous too, but neither of them turned out to care much, besides the standard "he can't start living us" spiel. In fact, one of them was now dating the same fake-redhead that had made fun of Derek's crush on and subsequent relationship with Will during the Fall semester.

"Thanks, man," Derek says, and very calmly (really, truly calmly) heads back to Will's room. He gives a quick half-knock before walking in, and finds Will unpacking all his freshly-laundered clothes. He feels his face heat up, suddenly hit with a wave of adrenalin, or oxytocin, or something else that makes his hands itch. Will looks up, and Derek doesn't know how to describe the way his face lights up when he realizes who's there.

"Hey," Will says, mouth curling into a smile, and Derek takes one, two, three steps forward to kiss him, face cupped in his palms. He feels Will's hand curl around his hips, the way he's smiling into the kiss, the way their noses press together like always. His heart is still racing.

"So you _did_ miss me," Will says when they pull apart, and he's flushed like he usually gets when they kiss. Derek feels weak.

"Yeah," he says, completely honest, and Will's expression softens to something closer to how Derek feels in that moment, his lungs still constricting, and then he says, "I love you," stomach bottoming out the split-second after he says it.

Time stops. Derek _swears_ it.

Will's still in his arms, though, still inches away from him, and one of his hands moves up to curl around the back of Derek's neck. He's staring—they both are, really, and the door's half-open behind Derek. But he can't look away from Will right now, he's so terrified; they're looking into each other's eyes like one of the many romance movies he'd binge-watched during rough breakups in high school.

Will says, "You love me?" like it's astounding, and Derek swallows, says, "Yeah, of course," and then Will hooks an arm over his neck to kiss him deeper this time, the two of the scrabbling at each other like they're afraid of disappearing. The door shuts with a _bang_ against Derek's back, the two of them practically hurtling into it, and then they're both laughing into the kiss, hard enough that they have to stop. They're still wrapped up in one another though, Will tucked between Derek's legs, fingers gripping his waist, Derek framing his face with his hands and rubbing over his cheekbones with his thumbs. For a long moment they just breathe and look at each other.

"I love you too," Will finally says, and Derek ignores the way his eyes prickle to grin at him, the expression mirrored with a sense of relief he hadn't expected.

"Good," he says, and Will is still grinning when he leans in to kiss him again.

* * *

 


	2. february 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not mine! Also there's some implied sex here that might be construed as unsafe but IMO Derek Nurse takes safe sex seriously so. Assume that if any penetrative sex occurred they used a condom okay omg.

> _in you the rivers sing and my soul flees in them_  
>  _as you desire, and you send it where you will._  
>  ah vastness of pines, pablo neruda

He's warm.

Uncharacteristically warm. Derek keeps the room on the precipice of comfortable when it comes to temperature, less because he cares about the environment and more because he prefers to use a ton of blankets once it's time for bed. It drives Will up the wall, something about how paying the outrageous cost of on-campus housing meaning that Derek should crank the heat up to seventy-four on the regular, especially in winter.

And that's—that's why it's warm, isn't it? Derek opens his eyes once he remembers where he is, and who he's with, and why—oh.

Why they're not wearing clothes.

There's a crick in his neck; he's lying on his side, and Will's eyelashes are fluttering, the two of them sharing a pillow with their knees locked together. Derek has an arm stretched out to cradle Will's head, and he can feel the heat coming off Will's palms against his ribs. He's warm all over, but especially in all the places where their skin is touching, and he can feel a blush coming on.

Derek swears he's never been the type to get embarrassed easily, but something about Poindexter gets to him. If he didn't enjoy it so much, well. It would probably still be worth it, he thinks, and fans his fingers out over the slope of Will's back, pressing his fingers to the arch of his spine like he can even _begin_ to memorize all things he forgot to the night before.

He lets out a breath he doesn't remember holding. Will sniffs, brow furrowing, and then his eyes open, unfocused for a moment before he blinks and comes to full wakefulness. He pulls away, and Derek braces himself for some sort of fight (but _Christ_ , he does _not_ want a fight, not now, not a real one, not like before the two of them became _them_ and further back, before they were really friends). But Will stops short of that, shifting only so he can attempt a poor full-body stretch, knees knocking against his, naked chests brushing because there's barely any space between them. Derek can feel his mouth water.

Will settles in close to him again, seemingly unfazed by the fact that it's their first morning after.

"Does it really count as a morning after?" he says.

"What," Derek, second-year English major, says. Will rolls his eyes, and Derek wonders how they're both so awake already. He blames it on the rush of waking up to someone new (well, sort of new), though Will _is_ the worst kind of morning person when he's not sick, which he's learned over the course of the semester. Derek's not entirely sure how he got here.

"You said it's our first morning after," Will tells him.

"I said that out loud?" Derek asks, and Will smirks a little, shifting closer like he doesn't care about morning breath. Which, for the record, Derek definitely doesn't, considering the bodily fluids they were sharing the night before, but, like. He was kind of expecting a freak out, or at least wouldn't have been surprised by one. Disappointed, yes, but he wouldn't have been particularly shocked.

Will presses their foreheads together, eyes half-lidded with what Derek hopes is _not_ simply exhaustion. Derek mirrors the expression unconsciously, hooking a leg more securely over the curve of Will's hip. He's pretty sure he's grinning.

"You should go back to sleep," Will says after a minute, which Derek definitely did not spend wondering when he was going to get a kiss. He blinks instead.

"What?" he repeats, and Will laughs a little bit, before pulling out of Derek's embrace. He rolls out of bed while Derek flounders, tangling himself up like always before freezing. Will actually manages to stretch this time, and Derek's eyes catch on the flex of his thighs and up to the stretch of his latissimus dorsi, the soft indentation of dimples beneath it. There are freckles spread everywhere, spots that Derek still hasn't got the chance to taste. His eyes catch on the faint purple of his own handprints, stark against the freckled skin of Will's hips.

He's overcome with the sudden urge to sink his teeth there.

"Fuck," he says, and throws an arm over his face when Will turns to look at him. He can already imagine the bruises he'll find on Will's inner thighs; his own back aches in a way he's sure means he has scratch marks, even with Will's lack of acrylics.

He wonders if Will's up for another round, and the thought sends more blood rushing south than had already been on its way.

The bed creaks, piece of shit that it is, when Will sits back down, hand resting on one of Derek's thighs. It feels almost hesitant. Derek sighs at the touch, and puts his arm down to look back at Will. He's biting his lip, expression pensive.

"So," he starts, and then falls quiet. Derek shifts onto his side, thankful that his dick doesn't _actually_ hate him enough to like, literally spring free of the blanket, even if the new position means that Will's hand moves up to his hip and that much closer to where Derek would really, really like it to be.

"So?" Derek says, giving a cocky grin that Will doesn't return. He lets the expression fall from his face, instead reaching for the hand on his hip with his own. "Hey," he says, "you okay?"

"Of course," Will scoffs, but he's still quiet, and he rubs his thumb over Derek's hand. It's something Derek's noticed he only really does when he's nervous. He thinks he maybe knows where this is going.

"Hey," he says, and when Will looks at him, smiles, for real this time. "Was that okay?" he asks, feeling something vulnerable open up inside of him, thinking of all the things his moms have ever said about communication and honestly and not pressuring a partner—"Like, last night. Was that okay?"

Will smiles back, a tiny thing starting at the corner of his mouth; Derek wants to kiss him very, very badly. "You're asking me?" he asks, eyebrows quirking, "I'm not the one with, uh, _experience_ with other guys."

"Are you talking about gay sex?" Derek says innocently, mostly to see Will flush, but grins at the flustered redhead when he scowls; "I mean, I guess I'm the expert out of the two of us? But that doesn't…really mean much in this case."

He straightens up, tugging at the covers so he can sit cross-legged beneath them and possibly focus better on the conversation at hand. Will one-ups him by crawling under them, too, so that they're almost wrapped up in a single cocoon. One that smells like sex. His dick is _definitely_ still demanding some attention.

Secretly, Derek thinks he deserves a medal. He's the best kind of boyfriend. Just look at him.

"Seriously," Derek says, once they're situated again, shoulders brushing underneath the blankets and fingers tangled together, "was that okay? Did I do anything you weren't comfortable with, or like, that you didn't like, or don't want to do again?"

"No," Will says after a second, still blushing, "it was. Fine. It was good, I mean. I liked it."

Derek bites his lip—a combination of trying not to grin and trying not to kiss Will before they get the talking out of the way. He tries to catch Will's eye, even if the other is pointedly keeping his gaze on their hands.

"Yeah?" Derek says, and _oops_ , his voice came out a little lower than anticipated. He feels like he's on the prowl, which is gross and kind of true. At some point his other hand, the one Will isn't holding, came up to stroke the outside of Will's thigh, even if it's through a layer of blanket.

"Derek," Will says, trying to sound reprimanding, but he shifts so that Derek can get a hand on his skin for real. He leans into Derek's space, and this time Derek gets the sour kiss he's been wanting since he woke up. "It was good?" Will asks, "For you?"

"As long as it's you and me, it's good," Derek says; _I love you_ , he doesn't say. He's breathless with it, full of something he can't even begin to explain. He keeps his eyes on Will even while slowly pushing them horizontal, cherishing the way Will's pupils dilate, the way his mouth parts.

"Derek," Will says again, and then they get caught up under the covers, where Derek is especially careful not to slip up.

* * *

 


	3. february 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I def don't own these characters. Anyway, just to reiterate: condoms were used as needed in this fade-to-black sex scene. Stay safe kids.

> _let me spread you out among yellow garlands._  
>  _who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?_  
>  every day you play, pablo neruda

Now, Derek has always liked parties. His moms like to bring out pictures of his third birthday party whenever they get the chance—him, beaming, and a three tiered cake in blue. His father had gotten it for him, despite only showing up for the first hour of said party before disappearing back to his new wife. They've now been together for as long as Mom and Mamá have been. It wasn't the first birthday party he had ditched.

But regardless, Derek likes a good party. He also likes a good hockey game, which is definitely not what he got for an early birthday present. They go down 3-2 in overtime, and not even his assist during the second period can make up the heaviness that immediately settles over him and the rest of the team as they shuffle through the process of getting dressed and ready to head back to the Haus.

In the stall next to him, Will's tense. The line of his back is rigid, but at least he's not shaking the way he did the spring before, after that awful game that Derek avoids thinking about. He finishes getting dressed first, sitting back to watch Derek finish up, and it's a testament to how disappointed everyone is that no one chirps either of them.

For all he claims to dislike PDA, Will lets him get away with a pretty sickening amount of affection when they're out and about. They've rapidly become the sort of couple that's actually cute to watch—whenever one of them runs into the other it's always to a quick side-hug and a kiss to the cheek, even if it meant Will rocking the flaming redhead look for a few minutes before he got used to it. Derek, personally, sort of misses those days. Lardo says they're so cute it's gag-worthy, which he privately agrees with. He's enjoying the hell out of it.

So when Derek reaches out to him once he's all put together, hockey bag packed, Will takes his hand easily, and the walk out of Faber has them shoulder to shoulder even after they say goodbye to the few teammates still milling about in the locker room.

"You want to head back to the Haus?" Will says, and Derek shrugs. The movement makes both of them sway.

"Not really," he says, glancing at Will before looking out into the darkness of what was supposed to be a birthday victory. Will squeezes his hand, and he returns the gesture with a smile that Will probably can't even see.

"My place?" he offers, and Derek grins, this time so that Will can see.

"Nah," he says, and starts tugging him along, "let's go to mine."

"Your shitty single, you mean?"

"Better than having two roommates in a house with paper walls."

"Derek, the walls in the dorms are shit too," Will says, voice lilting like it does when they're trying to rile each other up. Moments like these are the ones that convince Derek this is going to work out.

"But I don't have roommates," he insists, half-leading a not-truly-reluctant Will by this point. Their steps pick up, no longer quite as dejected as they had been upon leaving the locker room.

Derek thinks they're good for each other.

"My bed is nicer."

That makes him raise an eyebrow. He slows, barely, to give Will a once-over. "You have plans for your bed?"

Will, to Derek's ultimate pleasure, flushes red. "Shut up," he mutters, bumping shoulders again, "I'm just saying, your bed's awful."

"You're always sleeping over."

"Well, yeah," Will says, "roommates."

"For fuck's— _chill_ ," Derek says, and Will just laughs, fingers tightening over his.

"Yeah, whatever, Nurse," he says, and lets Derek pin him against the wall of the first building they come across.

It's nearing eleven when they get to Derek's room, and he shoves a hamper full of (clean) clothes to the far wall when they walk in.

"Are those clean?" Will asks, and Derek rolls his eyes.

"Yes, mother," he says, and Will makes a face at him.

"That just sounds weird," he says, and then, "why don't you _fold_ them," less a question than an exasperated statement.

"You're stifling my creative process," Derek tells him, and then flops backwards onto his bed, narrowly avoiding slamming his head into the wall. It wouldn't be the first time.

It also wouldn't be the first time with Will _there_.

Will says, "Do you want a beer?" because Derek always has his "pissy local brews" (as Will calls them) tucked away in the mini-fridge, but Derek just shrugs, still staring at the ceiling.

"Nah," Derek says, "I might, like, start crying or something."

Will snorts; "What a surprise."

"Hey," Derek says, stung, and props himself up on his elbows. Will makes a face at him.

"Derek," he says, "you cried at Transformers."

"It was _Optimus Prime_ ," Derek insists, but manages a grin when Will ducks his head to try and hide his own smile. He takes a seat at the edge of the bed for a moment before seeming to overcome some sort of internal argument, because between one blink and the next he's managed to swing a leg over to straddle Derek. He might be imagining things.

Well, no, actually, that's Will's firm weight over his hips, and his thighs bracketing his ribs, and his face getting very close—

"Mm," Derek manages, which he would translate to something along the lines of, _this is nice but also what_ , because he has a way with words no matter _what_ anyone says. He sinks into the kiss for several long minutes, hands creeping under Will's shirt while Will clutches at his collar.

Will pulls away with a sharp nip to his lower lip that makes everything in Derek pulse. "Hey," he says, voice husky, and fucking Derek goes—

"You're going to fuck up my shirt."

Will blinks, face going blank before he straightens up. He narrows his eyes.

"Are you—what the hell?" he says, but he looks like he might start laughing, which is better than accidentally starting a fight. Jesus H. Christ, Derek, _get it together_.

"Sorry, sorry," he says immediately, smoothing his palms up Will's thighs before settling somewhere near his hips. He rubs the skin he finds there, t-shirt still rucked up. "What're we talking about, again?'

"You're an idiot," Will tells him, but bends over him again to press his mouth along Derek's jawline. He sighs, head tilting backwards.

"If you leave hickeys the guys'll never shut up," he reminds him, and yelps when Will scrapes his teeth over his jugular.

"Shut _up_ , Derek," he says, "I'm trying to be _romantic_." Derek starts laughing, enough that Will has to sit up again, not that it stops Derek from making grabby hands at him. The room is cold.

Will swats at him. He says, "Derek, can you _chill_?" which he knows Derek _hates_ , so of course the only thing left to do is flip them both and pin Will down.

Not that he actually manages to do that, because Will is a bony fucker and doesn't mind playing dirty.

"Ow, goddamn it," he says, when an errant elbow manages to clip his chin, and Will stills immediately, hands going for his jaw.

"Shit, sorry," he says, and then, "did I hurt you?"

Derek's mostly on top of him, but he's only got one leg on the bed, barely managing to brace himself over Will. He's got one hand holding him up, the other loosely holding onto one of Will's wrists while he looks over his face, like he got him with a skateboard or something equally deadly.

"I'm fine," he says after a second, and Will looks relieved, grinning slightly at him like, _oh, good_ , like he could actually do something to genuinely hurt Derek.

Which, he could. But Derek doesn't think about that.

Or about how he can feel an _I love you_ bubbling up in his chest, trying to crawl out of his lungs—

Instead he ducks down to kiss him again, mouth soft, and Will's mouth parts so, so easily under his, and his back arches, and his hands scrabble at Derek like this is still something new, like they haven't done almost exactly this dozens of times before. Not that they've gotten any further—

Derek wants to do this right, okay? This thing going on. This relationship. This _yes-we're-dating-yes-we're-boyfriends-yes-this-_ _works_ deal. And Will's never done anything like this with dudes before; Derek had at least fooled around some before they got together and back at Andover, when it was more of a convenient coupling than anything else.

But now, now he's got Will under him, neck bared, and Derek bites up high where it meets his jaw, even if he was talking shit about hickeys earlier.

"Goddamn it, Nurse," Will says, and tugs Derek closer, arm giving out and letting them press full bodily together, and—

Derek makes a noise, probably an "oh!" because. That. Is definitely Will's dick. And usually this is where they put a brake on things, and get ready for bed, because. Because.

Derek's trying to remember.

"Uh," he says, eloquent as ever, and Will is blushing, eyes flickering between meeting Derek's gaze and focusing on his mouth.

They're silent for a bit, only the sound of their breathing filling the room. Finally Will says, "Do you want to…?" followed by the unmistakable pressure of his palm against the front of Derek's strained jeans.

_What the fuck_ , goes Derek's internal monologue, but IRL Derek says, "Oh _fuck_ , yes," and there go their clothes, there goes the pile of notebooks on the desk, there go Will's _uh!_ 's, there goes—

_Oh_.

"Happy birthday," Will mutters afterwards, mouth against Derek's collarbone, and when Derek glances at his bedside clock he can see it glowing: _12:03AM_.

"Thanks," he says, and fits his knuckles against the small of Will's back.

* * *

 


	4. december 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not mine. Also tw for accidentally being outed and homophobia.

> _and i watch my words from a long way off._  
>  _they are more yours than mine._  
>  so that you will hear me, pablo neruda

Derek usually loves New Years. They celebrate Christmas the Mexican way—Mamá's Chicana, fifth generation from Arizona. Back when SB1070 was still in the news they would go to protests, drive hours when they could to stand and chant and demand human rights.

Mamá still doesn't like to talk about her home state.

As a tradeoff, Mom always plans a big party for December 31st, inviting everyone from coworkers to Derek's dad, who inevitably shows up for half an hour at nine o'clock and disappears with his wife and kids before ten. They're eleven and nine, now, with the same upturned nose and rosebud mouth—their mother's from Malmö, hair so blonde it hurts, but kind for all her aloofness. Derek loves the girls more than he can properly describe, but between school and their father's absentee tendencies, well.

Derek doesn't believe in stifling one's self in the name of keeping other people comfortable. He figured out pretty early on in his time at Andover that dudes were his preference, even if that didn't stop him from hooking up with a girl or two between first having sex to like, starting to see Will all of six weeks ago. Or seven weeks. Derek's not keeping track.

And while this may be something that he was pretty open about with his moms, simply because he _has_ introduced them to a boyfriend before (and, also, because he couldn't keep himself from talking about Will if he tried. He _has_ tried, really), it's definitely not something he's brought up with his father. It's not like they get one-on-one time, anyway; any efforts to do so swiftly disappeared once his sisters came into the picture, and he thinks he's done a pretty good job of strictly labeling that an issue on his dad's part, and not a reflection on Svea or the girls. That's just how things turned out, and getting upset over it isn't going to change it. He knows this.

(Doesn't mean it didn't hurt, though.)

Like always, Christo Nurse and his three favorite blondes arrive shortly before nine. Not too many people were there already, maybe a handful of Mamá's friends from the Bronx who wanted to make Dominican arepas and had also brought the grapes for the countdown. Derek loves those grapes.

Svea is carrying a tin of truffles, and the girls are dressed in identical dresses—Thea in blue, Vivi in silver. Derek is greeted with hugs from both of them, and they accept his compliments with the same sort of shy grin they always get around him. His heart aches. He wants to introduce them to Will, with a sudden painful jolt. He wants them in his life.

"Cara," Derek's father says to Mom, who takes the stiff greeting with an incredible amount of grace, as usual. Mamá is as abrasive to him as always, insisting on what she calls her "Latinx greeting" and giving him a smacking kiss on the cheek. Svea finds it all amusing, if the barely perceptible upturn to her mouth is of any value. The girls, at least, giggle at the (semi-)adults' antics.

"How are you, son," he says to Derek, moving to stand on the other side of the kitchen island from him, and before he can give a passable response Mom interrupts him.

"On that _phone_ ," she says, Mamá looking up from where she's gossiping with Svea and the girls, "I don't even want to _think_ about what's got his attention like this."

Mamá snorts. " _Who_ , not what," she says, and she gives Derek a knowing look, even as he feels the blood drain from his face, "y ya sabes exactly who he's talking to."

They're teasing. Derek knows this, but he also knows (suddenly, sickeningly, in that moment) that he's never actually come out to his father, having been under the assumption that he wouldn't need to unless he met a dude he wanted to marry.

Which, well. Actually—

"Oh?" Christo says, like this is something he can relate to (a fair assumption, though it is also something Mom and Mamá can relate to, so).

"What's his name again, mijo?" Mamá says, smiling at Derek. Her expression flickers when she catches sight of his.

" _Will_ ," Mom says, half-exasperated, half-sigh, "or Dex, whatever it is your team decided was a good name. Lord, that boy better be something if he's got you this sprung."

Derek can't look away from the train wreck his mothers just dragged him into. Mamá's reaching out to him. It feels like slow motion. Derek would literally rather be stuck in NYC traffic at nine in the morning than standing just inside the kitchen, guests on the other side of the house and his parents/their spouses/his siblings standing around while two bring up a boy that the other two don't know about.

 _What the fuck_ , he's thinking, and then his father says, "What?" voice sharp.

Mom blinks, looks from him to Derek. Her mouth makes an 'o', and a well-manicured hand comes up to cover it—Zoya, Laurie. Mamá's are done in Kalista. Derek's toenails in Janel for good luck and because of Christmas Day tradition.

Svea's expression goes from confusion to understanding to wide-eyed concern, her eyes on her husband. Mamá, next to her near the archway, hisses under her breath: "Fuck!"

Mom puts her hand on his shoulder, by luck standing between her ex and Derek. At least, Derek notes, he hasn't jumped across the island to do—whatever, he wouldn't actually do anything. Derek is positive about this.

It's what might come afterwards that he's nervous about.

Fuck it. He says, in a voice that determinedly doesn't shake, "They're talking about my boyfriend. Will. We met at school."

His father is staring at him. Mamá has her face in her hands, and Mom keeps her gaze on Derek's father.

The world is still turning. If he listens closely he can hear Spanish with a Dominican twang. He can smell the arepas that are waiting to be eaten.

All he sees is his father.

"Boyfriend?" he says, like the word doesn't make sense.

"You ever have a girlfriend, Christo?" Mamá says, voice dry. Her hands are clasped over her chest, prayer-like, like when she and Mom watched the same-sex marriage proceedings over the summer. Derek can see the bravado on her face and feels a rush of gratitude. It's hard to feel alone in a home, he tells himself. She continues: "It's the same concept."

"Since when?" his father asks, and Derek manages to share a look of disbelief with his mother before they're both looking at Christo again.

"Always?" he offers, and something in him hates the way it sounds like a question. He's never pretended to be anything he's not, and he's not planning on starting anytime soon, especially not for his father.

Christo's expression twists, and the ugly feeling in Derek's gut intensifies.

"Always?" his father demands, "Just what the hell goes on in this house?" His voice rises, a sharp contrast to the soft thrum of noise barely a room over. There's a heavy silence just after, before someone mercifully turns up the volume of the music they have playing, the accordion from "Cómo Te Voy Olvidar" filling the room.

"Christo," Svea says, sharply, at the same time that Mamá goes, "What the _fuck_ are you insinuating," and Mom takes a step away from Derek to go to her.

Derek decides enough's enough, and while words are being heatedly exchanged between the four Real Adults in the room, he takes both sisters by the hand and asks if they'd like to see his room. Their wide eyes are answer enough.

Vivi says, once he's got them settled with a few old board games they still keep in the linen closet, "You have a boyfriend?" and Derek can't help but wince.

Thea interjects before he can answer, asking, "What's he like?" and they make him tell him everything he can about Will. Then they make him set up mousetrap for them.

Svea comes up maybe twenty minutes later, looking irritated, though the expression smooths out when she sees the three of them.

"Thank you for entertaining them, Derek," she says, and shoos the girls downstairs. She lingers in his doorway for a moment, waiting until he looks up to continue. "What your father did—said—that was uncalled for," she says, seriously. Her eyes are a very dark blue. "I am sorry that he reacted so poorly. I hope that you will let him try to make it up to you."

"I'd really rather not see him right now," Derek says, surprising himself. He's supposed to let stuff like this roll off his back.

Svea's mouth twists like she's trying not to say something, and Derek appreciates the effort. Finally she says, "He is wrong. I hope we see each other with happier reasons soon," and ducks out of his room. Derek lies back on his bed with a sigh, and when he checks his phone it's barely quarter to ten.

He goes downstairs for food and for grapes, before disappearing back upstairs to his room. Normally one or both of his moms would be insistent on helping them entertain, but this time they let him recede into himself. He doesn't know whether to be grateful or furious. He doesn't know how to feel.

At 11:58pm, he calls Will. He answers on the third ring, and Derek can feel the tension bleed from his shoulders.

"Hey," he says, and Will says, "Happy New Year." Derek grins despite himself.

"Happy New Year," he says back, even if no one's started the countdown yet. "I miss you," he says, instead of letting the 'L' word slip passed his teeth, and he can hear Will exhale.

There's some silence, long enough that Derek can't tell whether the music is coming from his end or Will's, and then Will says, "Two weeks," like it's an answer.

Which, it is. Just not the one Derek was hoping for.

"Yeah," he says, thickly, and swallows. "My dad found out about us."

More silence. "Shit," Will says, like he can't believe it, and Derek can hear the countdown starting, "are you okay?"

"Yeah," Derek says again, even if they both know he's lying, "it's not like it's the first time I've disappointed him." He's trying to laugh it off. He's trying.

"Derek," Will says, and his voice trails off. It's not like he's planning on coming out any time soon. Derek feels a twinge of jealousy at it before he reminds himself that Will's family is a lot more conservative than his, even if his father threw a wrench in it all tonight.

Downstairs, they've made it to five.

"I owe you a kiss," Derek says, just as they're reaching one, and he can hear Will's snort clearly over the sounds of cheers.

"Sure," Will says, and then again, this time more fondly, at least in Derek's opinion, "happy New Year, Derek."

"You too," he says, and presses his palm to the window of his room. The city's still alive with it; he wonders if Will wishes he were out there with him, too.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some quick comments: in my personal experience, parents are okay with non-heterosexual sexualities up until their kid comes out. Do I think Christo Nurse is a fucking asshole? Yes. Do I think he gets over it? Yes. Do I think Derek gives him a chance to make it up? Yes. Family fucks you over, man, but if Derek Nurse is anything like me then, like, he'll compartmentalize shit and make it work. At least he has Dex to help him out, yk?


	5. august 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not mine :) in case no one could tell, I am basically Derek's Mamá. Facts.

> _white bee, even when you are gone you buzz in my soul.  
>  you live again in time, slender and silent. _  
>  white bee, pablo neruda

Summer drags on so long Derek's actually thankful once it's time for him to head back to school come August. Like the year before, Mamá spends the three weeks before Derek leaves doing all his workouts with him, and beats him nine days in a row when it comes to squats.

"It's all from the heels," she says, and Derek grins, because for all her complaints about how her arches ache she's always looking for any excuse to wear her Kate Spades, which usually gets Mom to make literal heart-eyes at her. Derek loves them both.

Mamá also drives him down this year; his freshman year it had been Mom and his father, which was an interaction he could have gone his entire life without. Mom had a conference this weekend though, given continuing diversity issues that existed in the business world she had willingly made herself a part of, so Mamá gracefully intervened while Derek was trying to convince her that he could just drive himself to Samwell.

She doesn't even let him touch the radio, so they spend the hours-long drive listening to Proper Dos and Molotov, Mamá relishing the lyrics to Frijolero. She's always unimpressed with his workout playlists, come to think of it.

They're rapidly approaching the dorms when she goes, "Okay, mijo, now tell me, ¿qué harás con tu canelito?" and Derek chokes on air.

"Ma," he complains, once he's able to properly breathe again, and she shrugs primly, like she hasn't just brought up Dex up out of nowhere, what the fuck. She's got her hair parted down the middle, held back with three hairpins in a style that Mom is always jealous she can manage, curl pattern leaning more towards wavy than anything else. Derek used to braid it for her, when it was summertime and she'd take the day off from her court-interpreter job. They'd hit up the zoo, or bookstores, or the Mets game, even though Mamá hated sports until he started playing hockey. She's an Islanders fan now, much to his embarrassment.

"Derek," she says back, mockingly, and he has to look out the window to hide his grin. She reaches over without taking her eyes off the road to pinch his ear, and while he yelps says, "Seriously, what're you gonna do about him? ¿Cuál es tu _plan_?"

"I don't have a plan," Derek says, rubbing at his ear, "hey, what if I got my ear pierced?"

"You should have done that over the summer so it would have healed by now," she says immediately, "and don't change the subject."

"Mamá," he whines, and he can see her eyebrows furrow even if it looks like she's also trying to hide a smile.

"Don't whine," she says warningly, but then they're at the dorm and unloading everything in as few trips as they can manage.

She wraps her arms around him tightly when it's time for her to go, on her tiptoes because the top of her head barely comes to his clavicle. Mom can reach his chin.

"Adiós, cariño," she says, "be good."

"I will," Derek promises, still holding her, "I love you."

"I love you too," she says, and then steps away from him. She cuffs his chin. "Keep us updated on the boy, okay?" she says, and turns to climb into the driver's seat.

"Ma," Derek says, hands on his hips, but grins and waves goodbye to her as she pulls out of the parking lot. He can already feel a part him missing the way the three of them move around each other during the summer. To fight off the feeling he pulls out his phone to check for messages, knowing already that he's the last of old team to have gotten in for pre-season. Chances are the newest Frogs (or Tadpoles, whatever it was that Bitty had decided on) will be in sometime in the next day or so, what with training starting up on Monday.

He has one from Bitty, asking how the drive was going. He decides he'll answer later. There's also one from Dex, maybe an hour after Derek had left the city, saying he'd try to swing by the Haus later. That was the last one he'd sent. Derek pulls up a new message, asks, _address?_

Dex's response is immediate: _this isn't a housewarming, I'm unpacking._

 _I'll help_ , Derek sends back, and grins to himself when he gets an address to plug into Google Maps. He's awful with directions.

It's not too far off campus, but it feels longer than it should, even when compared to walking to the Haus in the middle of January, when the wind blows and makes Derek's eyes water enough that his eyelashes freeze together. But the day is clear, sky blue and even the birds chirping. Derek could write a poem, though with his luck it would morph into some ode to the changing seasons and he's tired of writing about autumn.

Or something like that.

It's a house, three bedroom from what he could remember Dex talking about the year before, on a street just two blocks off campus. It's full of other houses that students must live in, based off the signs proclaiming which housing company they all belong to. It's pretty sweet, in Derek's opinion. He's still holding out hope they'll get into the Haus next year.

The block is quiet, and it takes a minute for someone to answer the door when Derek knocks on what he hopes is the right house. He double checks the address twice in the time it takes for Dex to get the door open. Derek can feel his mouth go dry.

Dex somehow managed to get even more freckly over the summer, the sun having worked its magic on both his skin and his hair, which must have gotten sun-bleached it's so red. The cut of his shoulders is mouthwatering in the thin t-shirt he's wearing. Derek is not prepared for this.

"Hey," Dex says, taking a step back to let Derek enter. Derek barely manages to catch his staring in time to keep Dex from noticing anything, and he starts to second guess his intentions in coming here.

Actually, his attentions were as they usually were when it comes to Dex. It's that damn t-shirt. And the fact that summer looks really good on him. Derek doesn't deserve this.

"Nice place," Derek says once his vocal chords start working again. Dex squints at him, like he's actually as a big an asshole as he pretends to be. "Really," he insists, "I like it. Where's your room?"

He very carefully does not cringe. What the fuck, that's _so_ not buddies.

Dex doesn't appear to be disturbed by it though, and says, "Upstairs," before turning to lead them up the stairs. There are two couches and a TV stand in the living room, and he catches a glance of a shitty table with two mismatched chairs in the kitchen. The stairway is kind of cramped, but opens up decently to the upstairs hallway. Dex's room is to the far right, with a full-sized mattress wedged underneath one of the windows. Derek whistles almost involuntarily.

"Look at that, big plans for the year, huh?" he says. Where the fuck is his chill, he wonders, and then, oh, right, when Dex flushes.

"Shut up," he says, "my mom didn't want me to bring up my old bed and leave my room empty."

"Nice," Derek says in favor of sticking his foot in his mouth again, letting himself slump onto the aforementioned bed instead. He tries not to think about how comfortable it is. Obviously he's just tired of standing around. The walk was kind of tiring. Honestly.

Dex says, "Don't get my sheets dirty," because that's exactly what Derek needs to hear right now, and goes back to putting clothes away or whatever it is he's doing. The room is kind of cozy, when Derek pays closer attention to it, windows on either side, gray-ish blue walls. Dex has a couple of pictures up already, pinned to a corkboard, and he can make out the red hair that his mother passed onto him. She'd really liked him, if he remembers meeting her at Parents' Weekend correctly—

He must fall asleep at some point, because he's woken from some weird dream involving dragons by Dex touching his knee.

"Wake up," Dex says, not realizing that he already has, and Derek notices that his other knee is touching Dex's, sitting next to where he's taken up half the bed.

The sigh he heaves is more for his own benefit, letting him fake a yawn and sit up closer to Dex than is strictly necessary. Dex doesn't seem too bothered by it.

"Time's it?" Derek manages, the fake yawn having morphed into a real one.

"Three," Dex says, "you hungry?"

"Damn," Derek says, "you should have woken me up sooner, man, I didn't even mean to fall asleep."

Dex gives him a funny look; "I didn't actually expect you to help me unpack."

"Still," Derek insists, and then, "what are we doing now?"

"Bitty said there was peach cobbler," Dex says, grinning, "and whoever brings ice cream gets first dibs."

"Aw, man," Derek says, and stands up, even if his vision goes a bit spotty, "let's go then," and lets Dex lead the way out.

Stop'n'Shop is on the way there, and they duck in to buy some vanilla ice cream. Derek pulls out his card to pay but Dex beats him, pulling out a ten and handing it over.

"Yo, I had that," Derek says, and Dex shrugs.

"Order us pizza tonight or something," he says, turning back to the cashier to get his change.

That means nothing, Derek tells himself firmly. But. Still. Dex said it like he expects them to spend the rest of the day together, back at his place. Or maybe Derek's place—maybe he doesn't want to hang out in an empty house.

He looks at Dex. "I—yeah, sure," Derek says, face heating up again, stomach bottoming out at the realization that this isn't just a crush, that it's—it's something else, something stronger. He needs to call his moms, suddenly.

Dex quirks an eyebrow at him, "Ready?"

For this? No, but Derek says, "Yeah," instead of the hundreds of other things he wants to.

It's fine. He'll deal.

* * *


	6. april 10

> _between the lips and the voice something goes dying._  
>  _something with the wings of a bird, something of anguish and oblivion._  
>  i have gone marking, pablo neruda

He didn't expect it to hurt this much. It's soul-crushing. There's nothing romantic about it. It's heavy, enough to drown his lungs in an all-encompassing wave of devastation.

When he was younger, his moms would ply him with Fantasia and pan dulce. Right now, though, his parents are hours away, busy with their own lives while Derek embarks on his.

But nobody said it would hurt this badly.

Just ahead of him, Dex is shaking enough to be noticeable from a distance. He watches as he tugs his helmet off with an angry lurch, and can't bring himself to react when it gets thrown across the locker room, the heavy _thunk_ of it louder than he expected it to be. The part of Derek that usually revels in getting a rise out of Dex is muted, nonexistent, and he wants to get his arms around him and soothe the hurt of it away the way his moms might have, if they were there.

He settles on getting a gloved hand on Dex's back, instead, and the tremors travel up his arm, painful for all the emotional turmoil they carry. He swallows back what must be a sob, and tries not to think about anything but Dex for the moment. He's always done best with distractions—it's what makes him such a good poet, after all.

"Don't," Dex says, voice tight, but doesn't move to shake Derek off. His hand falls away anyway, and he knows not to take it personally, at least for the moment. Dex's chest is heaving, when he gets his jersey and pads off, and Derek's not sure what he's trying to hold back. He doesn't realize his own hands are shaking until he tries to tie his shoes, and can't.

There isn't a way to fix it. He sits and stares at his untied laces for several long moments, before the red of Dex's hair comes into his line of sight. He's kneeling, hands deftly tying knots the way Derek's refused to. It takes all of fifteen seconds, but something unfurls in Derek, something that's been there in wait for months.

He keeps reliving that last goal, over and over and over again. He wants to ask Dex if he is, too, but can't bring himself to form the words.

"Let's go," Dex says, and Derek just looks at the outstretched hand being offered. He wonders if he could just sink to the floor and stay there, suddenly overwhelmed by the disappointment, exhausted from a game that doesn't seem worth it in the aftermath.

"Nursey," Dex says, and then, "Derek, hey."

"Yeah," Derek says finally, "okay." He takes Dex's hand, standing up, and when he makes no move to shake him off once he's standing, curls his fingers around his wrist, firm so Dex knows it was intentional.

Dex doesn't say anything, but they share a long look over their joined hands. Derek's gear drags a bit as they leave the visitor's locker room and head towards the bus, and it takes everything not to rub his thumb over the fluttering pulse at Dex's wrist.

It feels like a journey. He's somewhere in his head for all he's still there, climbing onto the bus, letting Dex find a seat for them. Getting in is all muscle memory, and it's not until Dex has to extricate himself from Derek's grip to sit down that he realizes he hasn't let go.

He can't bring himself to sit down.

"Derek?" Dex says again, like there's no other way to get his attention but to call him something new. He might be onto something.

"Yeah?" Derek says, still hovering in the aisle; up front he can see Lardo and Shitty huddled together, Ransom and Holster's heads bent. Jack and Bitty are nowhere to be seen.

Dex tugs him by his wrist into the seat next to him, and when the movement leads to Derek slumping against him he goes with it, hand coming up to cup the back of his neck. His fingers curl into Derek's hair, and it's so much like how Mom would comfort him that he can feel the tears he's kept at bay finally break his through self-control.

The first sob he manages to swallow down, like a painful, hacking cough, but the second one rocks him bodily against Dex, who just shifts so he can get both arms around him, natural like it's something that happens on the regularly.

" _Fuck_ ," Derek says, choking on the word, and he shuts his eyes tight against the onslaught of tears. His forehead is against Dex's sternum, Dex's fingers still combing through his hair as if it were an afterthought. His left hand's braced on Derek's waist, heavy like he's trying his best to ground him.

It takes Derek a long time to realize the shaking isn't coming from him. He can tell already that he's soaked Dex's shirt, but Dex's hands are still shaking, more obvious in the hand that's doing nothing but gently resting against his back. Dex sniffs, and Derek knows he's not the only one crying. He wants to press his ear to Dex's chest and hear the way his lungs heave, too, but doesn't do that.

Instead he leans back enough to get hook an arm around Dex's neck, pulling him close so they can each press their faces into the other's neck. He can feel Dex's fingers against his ribs, gripping, and he smooths his own palm up Dex's back, who shudders and leans further into the embrace.

He feels mostly cried out, but from the way Dex's chest is jolting against him, he can tell he isn't. Derek can feel the sympathy tears coming. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus on their breathing instead, the way their ribcages expand against one another. It feels surprisingly intimate.

At some point the rest of the team must get on the bus, because it jerks to a start with a jolt that nearly knocks the both of them over. Dex manages to keep Derek from going flying into the aisle, and when he pulls away Derek feels strangely cold. He watches as he rubs the back of his wrist against his eyes, and how he lets his hand stay there for a moment, covering his face.

Derek, for the first time, sees the way stress and time has eaten away at Dex over the course of the year. The muscles in his neck make him remember John Steinbeck, of all things, but then again he remembers Dex mentioning that _The Grapes of Wrath_ had been his favorite book in high school. He barely manages to keep himself from tracing over the hard edge of Dex's clavicle, reaching out instead for his elbow.

"Dex," he says, and gets him to lower his arm. Dex's eyes are rimmed red, bloodshot. He looks as exhausted as Derek feels. He tugs him close again, wedges him against his side.

"Go to sleep, man," he says, and shakes his head when Dex opens his mouth to argue. "Seriously," he says, "I'll wake you up when we're close."

They look at each other for a long moment. He feels understanding flow through both of them, and Dex finally lets his gaze drop, nods his head affirmative.

"You look tired too," he says, like it's an argument, which it might be. He settles in against Derek's shoulder though, half-curled against him instead of the window like Derek always does on long rides. Their pinkies are touching. Their ankles might be, too.

"I'll stay awake," Derek says.

"No, you won't," Dex says, more statement than anything else, and sniffs one last the time. The bus is silent save for the low engine sounds drowning out what anyone else might be mumbling. He holds his breath for a second, tense, before lacing his fingers with Dex's.

"I probably won't," he admits, and bites his tongue when it gets a huff of laughter from Dex. He wants to say something else. Some platitude or another. Maybe something more. But he stays silent instead, lets Dex nod off on his shoulder. It's a long trip home.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're done!! As always, I do _not_ own these boys. If y'all have yet to read SirenAlpha's "With Shaking Hands" _do it_ , as it heavily influenced this chapter (but, like, hopefully this is still #fresh to read). Also I am p. sure this is the right date but I am not 100% so. Please please let me know of any issues/ways to improve, & thank u all for the kudos and messages :)


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